


Just Us

by Sonicmeriver (Lakela)



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakela/pseuds/Sonicmeriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why setting rules isn't always such a great idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Us

**Author's Note:**

> RPF again... We’re all going to hell.
> 
> And this time I went there, he’s married. What, with all the angst Rachel is giving us. This wife doesn’t have a name, though. Pretend these two are characters who happen to be named David and Catherine, who have professional lives surprisingly similar to another quite well known David and Catherine, and that he’s married to someone who doesn’t exist in real life.  
> Also, any Tatennant I happen to write is strongly influenced by Rachel’s fics. They’ve sort of become headcanon to me.

He presses into her, on stage, and feels her body complying. Her mouth opens to him, and he lets his tongue inside her. They never kiss like this on stage. That happens later, in her dressing room. Or earlier, the days when they meet up at hers. It’s always in her territory. This was convenient, to begin with; his wife would have been waiting back at his or likely to show up at some point. But in the long run, it’s also set the pace. She’s in charge, in a way, and he can’t say he minds.

Tonight is different, though. They press against each other in front of the audience and the kiss seems to go on for a lifetime. They both know this is coming to an end.

They’ve always known this day would come. Only during the play’s run, they’d said.

There would be no regrets, no looking back. She had said this, and he’d agreed: no regrets, no looking back.

The audience stands up in cheers.  He catches her eye and tears are running down her cheeks. He smiles at her a huge giddy smile; she smiles back, unreservedly.

Last night. It’s here.

 

He knocks. He always does.

“May I?”

“Come in,” she says. And as he does, his breath catches. She’s so stunning. He sees her every day, but there is something about today. Perhaps about it being the last time. He wants to take her in, all of her, every little detail imprinted in his mind, for keepsakes.

“Stunning,” he says it out loud.

“David,” she says, sombre. It’s then he realises something has changed in her, since their euphoria on stage.  She takes a deep breath and he can see her thinking, trying to word her thoughts before she says anything else.

He takes a step closer to her, and cups her face, making her look up at him. He smiles. She doesn’t.

He brings his lips to hers, softly, and kisses her. She kisses back just once, and then puts her hand between them, pushing him slightly away.

“We said, David, we agreed…” she trails off.

“We said until today. One last time, Catherine. Today isn’t over, yet.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“The point?”

“ _We_ are over.”

He stares back dumbfounded. Since when does there need to be a point to sex? To making love to Catherine. God, and he wants her so much. He’s been looking forward to this all day. Does she not feel the same?

He knows words won’t change her mind, so he brings his lips back to her and pushes with his tongue, licking her lips, making his way inside her mouth. She opens finally, letting him in. Their tongues tangling as he drinks her in.

“God Catherine,” he mumbles into her mouth.

But she isn’t in it. Not really. It’s over, she’d said as much. Now she’s just going through the motions.

He pulls back slightly and looks into her eyes. A memory flashes through his mind, those same eyes going dark above him as he pushes into her once and again. She’s got the most fascinating eyes he’s ever seen.

But now they’re void.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He nods and brings his lips to her once more. “I will miss you,” he says into her mouth.

She doesn’t say anything but simply nods and when he pulls back her eyes are moist.

“I should go,” he says.

She nods again and still doesn’t say anything.

“I would have liked…” he begins. He knows she doesn’t want to hear it, but he feels the need to say it. “I wish we could have had one last time.”

“We did,” she says, her lips breaking into a grin.

He rolls his eyes and offers her a sad smile. “I guess we did.”

 

When he opens the front door, she’s the last person he expects.

“Oh, hello…” he begins.

“Is she…” she says. “Are you…”

“She’s not here, no,” he answers the unasked questions.

She nods quickly and lets herself in, as he closes the door behind him.

“What are you…” he tries again. But when she raises her head to look at him, her expression has changed. Her eyes have widened, her mouth is half open, and before he knows what’s happening, she pushes him into the door and crushes her mouth to his.

“I’m sorry,” she says into his mouth, half out of breath. She sucks on him and pulls him closer with her hands, pushing both of them further against the door. He’d protest that the door knob is sticking into places where no one would want a knob stuck, but frankly, his mind is rather elsewhere…

Maybe that’s why it also takes him a while to notice the salty taste on his tongue and where it’s coming from.

“Catherine?” he says, trying to pull back. “Are you…” crying, he wants to say. But she stops him with her mouth.

“Shut up,” she says against his lips. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Her mouth trails the line of his neck as her hands go up and under his shirt. He groans.

“Will she… When is she coming back?”

“I don’t know; she’s at her mother’s.” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, because the very pleasant feeling of having Catherine’s entire body pressed against him is immediately over.

 “Oh, right. Of course,” she says hoarsely, taking a step back and looking down again. “What a fucking daft thing to do. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what possessed me. It’s just that before… when you said… I want a last time, too.” She looks up at him for the last part and his heart breaks. He’s never seen her so vulnerable before. It’s always impossible to tell what she’s really thinking, let alone feeling, but now she’s showing him, for the first time, that she’s broken.

That he has broken her.

“Catherine...” He’s half-hard in his trousers and about to suggest they go to hers, but he knows it’s not a good idea. “Why now? What has changed? You said no.” You rejected me, he finishes in his mind.

“I needed to move on. I didn’t think there was a point to doing it a last time, knowing it would be the last.”

“So? What has changed?”

She looks up at him, again, but doesn’t answer.

This had all started out as a bit of fun. It isn’t unusual in the business, sleeping with a co-star. And while he isn’t exactly in an open marriage, he knows his wife knows all about his affairs, as well as he does of hers. It doesn’t interfere, for the most part, with their daily routines.

 But he has never stopped to consider how this would affect Catherine. She isn’t just a ‘co-star’. She’s far from being a ‘just’ anything.

He’s starting to understand, now, but he doesn’t think he wants to. If she is... If he’s right, things could get way too complicated.

“Have we screwed things up?” she asks, almost in a whisper, she’s thinking the same thing. “Have I lost my best friend?”

And for the first time, his chest tightens and he’s the one who feels like crying, because he thinks they may actually have. But he says “No,” all the same, and pulls her into a hug.

“I love you, Catherine,” he says, and knows, almost immediately, this was the wrong thing to say. She stiffens in his arms and the hug doesn’t last long after that.

“I should go,” she says.

 

At night he replays the events in his head. The way she looked when she walked in. The need in her eyes, the hunger, the desperation. He replays his own lines, too. He’d told her that he loved her. He didn’t mean it that way, of course... and that was actually the problem. He hadn’t realised it until today: at some point along the way, she had fallen in love with him.

He stirs in bed and replays the events, over and over. He can’t reciprocate, they both know that: he’s in love with someone else.

But is he?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why did things have to get complicated?

Why did they have to shag in the first place? They’d been best friends since Who and nothing had ever happened between them. In truth, he hadn’t thought of her that way to begin with. But little by little, she’d started getting under his skin. When rehearsals for the play had started, something subtle had already changed in their relationship. A flirtiness that hadn’t been there before, a new game between them.

 

“Non-alcoholic drinks, later?” he whispers from behind her in her ear, during tea break. “The wife’s been out of town for a week. I’m bored out of my mind, home alone.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” she says sarcastically, turning around to him.

“So? What do you say?”

“I don’t know. I’m a bit tired. I think I’d just rather head straight back home, to be honest.”

“Well, we could also do that. Yes.”

She laughs. “I mean on my own,” she clarifies.

“Oh. Pity,” he grins back at her.

 

“Non-alcoholic drinks, later?” he murmurs into her neck, while she revises her script. It makes her shiver, he notes proudly.

“You just asked me two hours ago,” she scolds him, putting the script away.

“And you said no. I’m hoping you’ll have changed your mind.”

She smiles. “I haven’t, David, sorry.”

 

“Alcoholic drinks, now?” he says, catching up with her as she leaves the theatre.

“Do you never give up?”

“Not when the prize is worth it.”

“Fine. Just one drink. A NON-alcoholic one, thankyouverymuch. And then I’m going home straight away.”

Three hours and four cranberry juices each later, he tells her she’s got the most amazing eyes he’s ever seen.

“You’re drunk,” she says.

“Hey! I’ve been drinking this nasty stuff just like you!”

“Yeah, and it’s gone straight up to your head. You really can’t hold your sugar.”

 “Well, what if it has?” he purrs. “I still think you’re stunning.”

“Stop it,” she says blushing. “Stop right now or I’m going.”

“It’s only ten pm, the night is young, Catherine.”

“But we’re definitely not.”

“You’re such a spoilsport.”

“Aren’t I just.”

“So... who gets to tell you that you’re beautiful these days? Are you keeping secrets from me?”

“You know I’m not. I tell you everything, David.”

“So let me.”

“Let you?”

“Let _me_ tell you that you’re beautiful.”

“David,” she says warningly.

“Have you never wondered? What it would be like... You and I.”

She licks her lips as she thinks of a reply, and his eyes immediately dip to her mouth. She notices and moves in her chair uncomfortably.

“Of course I have,” she says, her words forcing him to look up at her again. “You’re David bloody Tennant. Who hasn’t wondered at some point?”

Her guard is up again, he can tell, and her look is that of a challenge. Two can clearly play at this game.

“Well, you’re Catherine bloody Tate. And I’ve thought about it as well.”

“I’ll admit that you may well have, you are a man after all. But I hate to disillusion you; it’s not because of my eyes.”

He grins at her and tries very hard not to stare at her breasts.

“You can’t be serious...,” she speaks again.

“Why not?”

“Well, you’re married, for starters.”

“You know how it is, between us. She’s not alone, this week, either.”

“Still, David, I couldn’t...”

But the fact that they’re even discussing it, is good enough for him. He gets up from the table and whispers in her ear.

“Just once, just tonight. God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

She looks nervously around the pub, to make sure no one has seen this. No one seems to be looking at them, but she still scolds him with a look. “Not here,” she hisses.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says smiling.

 

She groans as his tongue traces the curve of her neck, and his fingers find their way between her curls.

“We said once,” she pants.

“What?”

“We said once. You’ve been coming to mine for a week, and your wife has been back for two days.”

“Do you seriously want to discuss this _now_ ,” he _says_ , pulling his mouth back from her neck, but not removing the fingers.

“Yeah,” she says nodding. He quickens the pace with his hand and she gasps. “Rules.”

“Rules?”

“We need to have rules,” she repeats, her breathing getting more and more ragged by the second.

“Ok. What rules?”

“This only lasts until the end of the run.”

“Ok.”

“And after that, no regrets. No looking back.”

“No regrets, no looking back.”

“We go back to friends who don’t shag every time they… God.”

“God?”

“Shut up, you’re…” she’s having real trouble keeping her thoughts straight now. “Friends. Yeah?”

“Yes. Friends and God.”

“Fuck, David. Ugh. Just… Don’t stop. I…” the noise she makes, sends a shiver down his spine. “I need you, David. Inside me. Now!”

 

He turns around and watches his wife sleeping.

He’s married. He IS in love with someone else. So why can’t he can’t stop thinking about Catherine? When did this happen?

What if it’s not her who has fallen for him, what if it’s the other way around? What if her reticence today, was not because she needs the space to move on, but because she thinks _he_ does? And does he?

Oh, shit, he does.

He stirs all night with this new thought in mind, and now that it’s planted in his head, he can’t unthink it. He’s in love with Catherine.

 

“Hello you,” the familiar voice says on the other end of the line as soon as he picks up the phone.

“Catherine.” He smiles into the receiver, his heart hammering against his chest. “Long time no talk.”

“Yes, quite. Months, now.”

“How are you? How’s America treating you?”

“Not bad, not bad. Yourself?”

“Good yeah. Got a few things lined up.”

“Oh. Anything interesting?”

“Telly mostly. There might be a theatre thing, at the Harold Pinter.”

“At the what?”

“At the Comedy, they’ve changed the name. You know that!”

“Oh, right. At the Harold Pinter,” she trails off, trying the name on for size. “Nope. I don’t see it. At the Pinter?” she tries again. “Slightly better, I suppose. At the HP? Hmm. You’ve got a theatre thing at the HP…”

“Catherine?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re talking to yourself.”

“So I am. Who’s it with? And the play?”

“New writing. Nothing’s set yet. Kiera Knightly.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really . Why? Is she alright?”

“Oh, I’m sure she is. I just can’t really picture the two of you together. On second thought, maybe I can. Who’s directing?”

“Jackson. Have you worked with him?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I haven’t said yes, yet. We’ll see… And you? Do you plan on staying there forever?”

“You’re kidding. With all those yogurts? Not a chance. We’ve actually finished shooting. I’m back next week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” he begins after a long silence. “Why did you call?”

“I don’t know. Missed your voice?”

“Did you now? I don’t believe you. You love doing an American accent, you must be in heaven now.”

“My Scottish one is getting rusty.”

“Then why didn’t you take any of my calls?” he asks bluntly, before he has time to think better of it.

“David, I just…”

“When you left… I called a billion times. I left messages on your answering machine and not a word from you.”

 “I needed time, to think. I needed the space. I needed to get over you.”

“What?” his heart catches in his throat and it takes him a while to realise why. She needed to get over him. She’s over him.

“I was in love with you, David. Couldn’t you tell? You must have known… It was hell being around you in the end. Knowing you were married. I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to go.”

“I’m not… married, anymore,” he says, his eyes welling up in spite of himself. Damn it. Why couldn’t _he_ get over her, while she has clearly done so?

 “What?!” Catherine practically shrieks on the other end of the line.

“I suppose you were not the only one who was affected by the whole thing. What a bloody terrible idea we had, eh?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Catherine?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Quite a terrible idea, yes. David, look, I’ve gotta go… I’ll talk to you soon, yeah? We should have tea, next week.”

“Is that a promise?”

 

“Tea?” he offers.

“Thank you,” she nods, moving further into the living room.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing towards the sofa, as he puts the kettle on.

“This feels weird.” He looks at her inquisitively. “You, on your own,” she clarifies. “This flat, it’s so different from the other one.”

“I needed a change of airs.”

“Yes, I understand that.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Sit with me?” she asks, as he lingers by the kettle. “Water won’t boil any quicker no matter how much you stare at it, so you might as well sit.”

He does, but not where she’s patting the couch next to her. Instead, he sits in the arm chair in front of her.

She sighs not knowing where to start. He smiles.

They sit in silence for a while, just looking at each other. He wants nothing more than to reach for her, caress her... Feel her close to him, again. But things have changed. He knows the only reason they’re together now is because she’s over him. She’s over him. He chants it to himself, he must not forget. She’s over him.

When it’s her hand who reaches softly for his leg, he squirms away. Does she not see what she still does to him?

The kettle finally finishes and he practically jumps from the armchair. Saved by the bell, indeed.

“Here,” he says, handing her a mug. “No sugar, yeah?”

“Yeah. Cheers.”

She picks up the mug from him and places it on the coffee table in front of her. He does the same, sitting again on the armchair.

“David…” she begins, finally breaking the awkward silence. “What you said, the other day, on the phone… You made it sound as if… I need to know… Did… _us,_ have anything to do with you and… breaking up?”

He doesn’t have to think twice on his answer. “Yes,” he says honestly.

She swallows, her breathing hitching slightly. He can’t read her. Does she feel guilty? Is that what this is all about?

“It’s not your fault,” he says by way of reassurance.

“Isn’t it?” she asks, curious.

“No! Of course not… I was the one who…”

“Alright,” she interrupts him. She looks at him, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’d ask why you didn’t tell me, but taking a wild guess, I’d say me not picking up the phone had something to do with it.”

He laughs. “It may indeed have.”

She nods. “And if… I had? Picked up the phone, I mean. What would you have said?”

“God, I don’t know,” he answers, nervously. “Does it matter?”

“Does it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does it still matter, David? What you would have told me then… would you still mean it?”

He understands what she’s asking him, and he can’t lie. “Yes.”

She nods again, slowly. Her eyes welling up. He panics.

“It’s not your fault!” he insists, leaving the armchair and crouching in front of her, his hands landing on her lap. “None of it was your fault,” he repeats, looking up at her.

“Shhh,” she says, grabbing his shirt and bringing him up to meet her. Their mouths come together, hungrily, wet from tongues and tears. “You idiot,” she murmurs into his mouth. “You stupid idiot.”

“Hey,” he protests, weakly, his mouth immediately landing back on hers.

 

“Rules,” she says, breathing heavily, as he collapses on her, completely spent.

“Mmmh?” he asks into her hair.

“Rules,” she repeats.

“Okay,” he manages to mumble.

“This time around,” she says, “let’s not screw things up.”

He smiles against her neck and sticks his tongue to lick it, making her squirm. “No screwing things up,” he agrees. “This time around, no deadlines, no sneaking, no secrets. Just us.”

“Just us.”


End file.
